


Broken Pieces

by finereluctance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, Season 9, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finereluctance/pseuds/finereluctance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mid-season 9, so spoilers are a thing.  It’s late one night at the bunker when Dean prays for Cas to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at writing for this fandom, so... sorry if this sucks.

***

“Dean,” Cas’ voice was low as it drifted down the hall late one night. It was scratchier than normal and reminded the younger Winchester of the sound of the Impala’s tires on gravel.

From the muffled reply that he couldn’t make out, Sam assumed their lost angel had found Dean out in the war room where he had left him with a few beers earlier in the evening. Sam wouldn’t admit it aloud because he knew it would lead to Dean making fun of him for having a ‘chick flick moment,’ but he was relieved to finally have Cas home. With a quiet sigh of contentment he turned off the light and closed his eyes to sleep.

***

Dean only looked up from where he’d slumped over the table in a drunken stupor when he heard his name. The room spun around him; the few lights left on swam in the darkness and distorted the shapes around him, but even his drunkenness could not hide or diffuse the soft grey glow of wings behind the angel. Castiel’s wings. **Not Castiel’s wings** , an unhelpful voice corrected him in the back of his mind.

“You’re home,” Dean’s words slurred in the silent bunker. “Was starting to think you’d never come back.”

Castiel tilted his head a fraction of an inch as he studied Dean in the dim light. He wondered briefly if the human knew how much his words betrayed him, but he wisely chose not to comment. “I always come when you ask.”

“Cas…” Dean murmured. His eyes were heavy with alcohol and exhaustion as he reached out for the angel. He hadn’t slept well in months – not since the trials, if he was honest, and he was too tired to care how needy he came across. He had been praying, silently begging the angel to come back for over an hour, because he knew Cas would never judge him or hold it against him. Even after Dean had been the one who told him to get out, Cas still came back.

“Bed, Dean.” Cas took his hand to help him onto unsteady feet. “You need to be comfortable to rest fully.”

Dean didn’t fight him. Instead, in a rare showing of compliance, he allowed Castiel to lead him through the maze of hallways to his bedroom. The lamp on the side of the bed where Dean slept was on when they entered, but Cas flicked it off as soon as they were inside so the only light was the soft glow of his wings.

“Your wings are the wrong color,” Dean mumbled off-handedly as he stripped off his jeans and shoes to fall onto the bed. 

Castiel sighed and looked over his shoulder at the outward sign of the foreign grace he had taken. “You won’t see them if you close your eyes,” he responded in a lowered tone as he too undressed for bed. His hand brushed against the long-lost blue tie hanging over the bed post as he folded his coat to set it aside, and a moment later he was comfortable enough to get into the other side of the bed.

“The grace **feels** wrong,” Dean’s soft slur had taken on the heavy edge of sleep the moment he’d laid down.

“I will find a way to get mine back,” the angel promised quietly as he moved to lay against Dean’s side, his cheek on the human’s shoulder. “But you must rest now.”

Dean yawned and turned his head so his face pressed against Castiel’s tousled hair. “Missed you…”

Cas smiled in the darkness and pressed his hand to the human’s forehead. “Sleep now.” 

There was still much to do, but even with his lost grace and Dean bearing the Mark of Cain, Cas knew there was no where he would rather be that night. He was home. 

***

It was nearly noon when Dean woke under the sleeping weight of the angel. He shifted his hands where he had clutched Cas’ wings during the night, stroking through the feathers out of habit only to be met with an unfamiliar coarseness of short, damaged feathers. They really were nothing like Castiel’s silky black primaries that were longer than his arm.

A cough from the doorway drew Dean’s attention from his thoughts about feathers and grace to meet his brother’s gaze. Sam hadn’t willingly sought him out in weeks, not since he found out what Dean had done.

“There’s a case, if you aren’t too busy with,” Sam waved a hand towards Castiel’s sleeping form that was sprawled across Dean in place of a blanket.

“Gimme an hour?” Dean asked. His thumb stroked Cas’ neck absently to wake his, whatever Cas was. Defining what they were was never high on Dean’s list of things to think about.

“Yeah, whatever.” Sam turned to go, but paused like he wanted to say something else. After a moment he looked back at them, “Is he here to stay this time?”

Dean glanced down and his gaze met sleepy blue eyes. “I hope so.”

“Good.” Sam’s reply was terse, but Dean knew him well enough to understand everything his brother hadn’t said. Cas would be the buffer that Sam needed to keep Dean away from him for the moment, the distraction for Dean so Sam could get his own thoughts in order. If they were lucky, Castiel was exactly what they both needed to fix what was broken - the glue that held the pieces of their lives together.


End file.
